Disclaimers: I don't own any of the characters or settings from Lord of the Rings or Xena the Warrior Princess

Author's Note:

This is a LegoRomance (slow-burn)

ActV

Trusted Friends

Chapter 49: Unspoken Gratitude

Imladris, September 10th 3018 T.A

As the night descended upon Rivendell, a soft, tranquil silence settled over the valley. Xena, having spent the entire day in the company of Arwen, found herself slowly making her way back to her chamber. The corridors of Rivendell were dimly lit by the soft glow of lanterns, their light casting gentle shadows on the intricately carved walls. The sound of the ever-present waterfalls outside provided a soothing backdrop, but it did little to alleviate the weariness that clung to her.

Each step she took echoed faintly in the hallway, her body protesting against the exertion she had put it through. It wasn't just the day filled with unfamiliar topics and Arwen's light-hearted banter that had drained her, but the lingering effects of her wound, which she had been trying to ignore. The deep, nagging pain reminded her that she wasn't fully healed, no matter how much she tried to convince herself otherwise.

As she reached her chamber, the door opened with a gentle push, revealing the quiet, peaceful space within. The room was bathed in the soft, silvery light of the moon, filtering through the arched window that overlooked the serene waterfalls of Rivendell. The bed, with its intricately carved wooden frame and soft, flowing covers, beckoned her, offering the promise of rest and recuperation.

But before she could succumb to the lure of sleep, there was a light knock on the door. Xena turned to see a pair of Elven healers standing at the threshold, their expressions gentle but firm. They had been keeping a close eye on her recovery, and it was clear that they were concerned about her well-being.

"Lady Xena," one of the healers said softly, her voice as soothing as the night breeze. "We have brought the herbs and salves you need for your wound. It is important that you apply them tonight."

Xena nodded, too weary to argue. The healer stepped inside, carrying a small tray with various herbs, a jar of thick paste, and a cup filled with a warm, fragrant liquid. The other healer approached her with a mixture of concern and understanding, guiding her to sit on the edge of the bed.

"This is a paste made from the roots of athelas, a plant known for its healing properties," the healer explained as she carefully opened the jar and began to apply the thick, cool paste to Xena's wound. "It will help to draw out the lingering darkness and promote healing. You must apply it every night before you sleep."

Xena watched as the healer's hands moved with practiced precision, her touch gentle yet effective. The paste had a soothing effect, cooling the burning sensation that had been plaguing her wound. The healer then handed Xena the cup filled with the warm liquid.

"Drink this," she instructed. "It is a tea made from a blend of herbs that will ease your pain and help you rest. You must take it slowly, allowing it to work its way through your body."

Xena complied, taking small sips of the tea. Its taste was earthy and slightly bitter, but it brought a warmth that spread through her body, easing the tension in her muscles and dulling the persistent ache in her side.

The healers stayed with her until she finished the tea and ensured that the paste was properly applied. Then, with a few final words of advice, they gathered their things and quietly left the room, leaving Xena alone once more.

Now alone in the silence of her chamber, Xena felt the full weight of her exhaustion. She set the empty cup aside and slowly lay back against the soft pillows, pulling the covers up over her body. The paste was already working its magic, dulling the pain in her wound and lulling her into a state of relaxation.

As she lay there, her thoughts drifted briefly to the events of the day—Arwen's kindness, the fleeting moments of humor with Legolas, and the constant, nagging concern that she wasn't as strong as she needed to be. But the herbs were potent, and soon those thoughts began to fade, replaced by the gentle embrace of sleep.

Xena's eyes fluttered closed, her breathing evening out as she finally gave in to the need for rest. The last thing she heard before sleep claimed her was the distant, soothing sound of the waterfalls, a reminder that she was safe, at least for now, in this peaceful haven of Rivendell.

Legolas was intimately familiar with the healing methods of Imladris, having been treated in its halls many times before. The elves were masters of herbal lore, and their pastes and salves were more than just simple remedies—they were infused with the wisdom of ages. The herbs they used not only soothed pain and promoted healing but also contained subtle sedatives that coaxed the wounded into a deep, restorative sleep. For it was in sleep that the body did most of its healing, free from the conscious mind's distractions. This very "trick" was applied to Xena, ensuring that after the healers left her chamber, she would soon be enveloped in the embrace of slumber.

But Legolas could not rest easily, knowing that Xena was still at risk. The wound from the Morgul-blade was a grave matter, one that could not be underestimated. Despite the rules he had set for himself—rules about boundaries and the decorum expected of a prince—tonight, like the night before, he found those rules crumbling beneath the weight of his concern.

With the quiet grace of a shadow, Legolas slipped from his chamber. The cool night air greeted him as he climbed out of his window, the moonlight casting his figure in silver as he made his way to Xena's room. It was a familiar route by now, one he could traverse blindfolded. He reached her window and, with a fluid motion, leaped inside, landing soundlessly like a cat on the polished wooden floor.

Xena was already deep in sleep, her chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. Legolas approached her bedside with measured steps, his sharp eyes tracing the lines of her face. Her expression was serene, a stark contrast to the turmoil she had endured. Gently, he brushed a few stray strands of her dark hair away from her face, his fingers lingering for a moment longer than necessary as he observed her closely.

Here, in the privacy of her chamber, Legolas allowed himself the luxury of simply watching her. The fierce warrior he had come to respect was now peaceful, vulnerable even, and it eased his heart to see that the worst of the ordeal seemed to have passed. Satisfied that she was resting well, he quietly took a seat in the chair beside her bed. His hand found hers, and he held it gently as he whispered a few soft prayers in Elvish, his voice a mere breath in the still night air.

He remained by her side until the first light of dawn began to filter through the curtains. The moment the sun's rays touched the room, Legolas knew it was time to leave. With a lingering glance at Xena, still peacefully asleep, he rose from the chair. He released her hand reluctantly and slipped out of her chamber as quietly as he had entered, leaving her to wake alone.

When Xena eventually stirred from her slumber, she was greeted by the golden light of morning. She sat up slowly, rubbing the remnants of sleep from her eyes. Something was different—there was a distinct scent in the air, one she recognized all too well. The aroma of summer rain mingled with mint and citrus filled the room, so strong it was as though Legolas himself had been there just moments ago. But the room was empty, the door closed, and everything seemed untouched.

She frowned, puzzled. The scent was too vivid to be merely a figment of her imagination, yet there was no sign of the elf. Could his presence have lingered so strongly that she could still sense it now? Shaking her head, she dismissed the thought, but a nagging curiosity remained.

Determined to get to the bottom of it, she took her time washing up, donning the same robes she had come to accept, albeit begrudgingly. Minutes later, she found herself standing outside Legolas's chamber, and without a second thought, she pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The familiar scent hit her again, though not as overpowering as before. Legolas was there, lying on his bed, shirtless and seemingly deep in sleep. His discarded robe lay on the floor, his boots neatly placed to the side. He appeared to be at peace, his breathing steady and calm.

Xena stood by the door, talking quietly to herself, wondering if she was imagining things. The thought that she might be so affected by the elf that she was beginning to hallucinate his presence unnerved her. Deciding it was wiser to keep her distance, she left his room without disturbing him and stepped into the corridor, seeking the fresh air to clear her mind.

The fresh air and the soothing sound of the waterfalls in Rivendell offered Xena a brief respite from the mounting concerns swirling in her mind. The tranquility of the Elven haven had a way of softening even the most troubled thoughts, allowing her to momentarily set aside the strange feelings that had begun to stir within her.

As she wandered along the winding paths, lost in her thoughts, Míresgaliel found her with a gentle smile. The elf maiden informed her that Elladan and Elrohir were looking for her. Xena followed Míresgaliel back to the entrance of Rivendell, where the twins waited with an easy grace that only elves seemed to possess.

"Good morning, Xena," Elladan greeted her with a nod. His twin, Elrohir, echoed the sentiment. "We thought you might want to see your horse," Elrohir added, a hint of amusement in his eyes.

Xena's expression brightened slightly at the mention of her beloved steed, Chubbie. The twins led her to the stables, a spacious and serene structure nestled among the trees, where the scent of hay and the quiet sounds of contented horses created an atmosphere of calm.

As they approached Chubbie's stall, Xena's eyes narrowed with a mix of amusement and exasperation. Her horse, the ever-hungry Chubbie, was happily munching on a pile of apples, seemingly oblivious to her arrival. The horse's glossy coat and the shine in its eyes suggested that it was being treated with all the care and attention befitting a royal mount.

"Chubbie," Xena called, a hint of a smile tugging at her lips.

The horse flicked an ear in her direction but continued munching on the apples, showing no particular interest in its owner. Xena rolled her eyes, recognizing the familiar pattern—Chubbie, like her previous horse Argo, had a particular weakness for apples. It was as if the horse would gladly trade her in for a lifetime supply of the fruit.

Xena stepped into the stable, the soft crunch of hay underfoot as she approached Chubbie. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?" she muttered, shaking her head at the horse's blatant disregard for her presence. "Typical. Offer you a few apples, and you'd forget all about me."

Chubbie finally deigned to glance in her direction, but only briefly before returning to the apples with a contented snort. The horse's attitude brought back memories of Argo, who had similarly held a deep affection for apples and would often playfully ignore Xena if the treat was involved.

Despite herself, Xena chuckled softly, the tension easing from her shoulders. She reached for a brush hanging nearby and began to gently groom Chubbie, working the brush through the horse's thick mane with practiced ease. As she did so, she spoke to Chubbie in a low, soothing voice, sharing her thoughts and worries, even though she knew the horse wouldn't understand. It was a comforting ritual, one that brought her a sense of normalcy in the midst of the unfamiliar surroundings.

"You've got it easy here, don't you?" she murmured, brushing down Chubbie's back. "Good food, plenty of rest, and no battles to fight. You're probably the only one in this place who isn't worried about something."

Chubbie, now fully engrossed in the attention, leaned into her touch, his earlier indifference giving way to a soft whinny of appreciation. The horse's large, expressive eyes looked at Xena as if to say, *Why wouldn't I enjoy it?*

Xena smiled, continuing to brush Chubbie's coat until it shone. The simple act of caring for her horse brought her a sense of peace that she hadn't realized she needed. It was a moment of quiet connection, a return to the familiar bond she had with her horse, a bond that had seen them through countless journeys and battles.

The twins watched from a distance, exchanging a glance that conveyed their mutual understanding. Xena, despite her fierce independence and warrior spirit, had a soft spot for her horse that they found endearing. Recognizing that she needed some time alone, they quietly took their leave, leaving Xena to spend as much time as she needed with Chubbie.

As the twins disappeared from view, Xena was left alone in the stable with her thoughts and the rhythmic sound of the brush against Chubbie's coat. The world outside might have been filled with uncertainties, but here, in the quiet of the stables with her trusted steed, Xena found a small measure of solace.

As the noon sun cast its golden light over Rivendell, Xena made her way back from the stables, her mind briefly entertained by the thought of taking Chubbie for a ride. However, the lingering effects of her injury and the prudent knowledge that she wasn't fully recovered kept her from acting on the impulse. There was no immediate threat, no pressing need to fight, and so, she chose caution over action—a rare decision for the warrior princess.

Her return to the main halls of Rivendell led her to a chance encounter with Arwen, who, with her ever-present grace, invited Xena to join her for the midday meal. Together, they walked to the dining area, where the twins, Elladan and Elrohir, had already gathered, with Legolas soon joining them.

The dining area, as always, was a picture of Elven elegance—light streaming in through the intricately designed windows, casting a soft glow on the polished wooden tables. The air was filled with the delicate aroma of fruits and herbs, the typical fare of Elven cuisine, which was as refined and gentle as the elves themselves.

Each member of the group had chosen their meal with the same ease and care that characterized their every movement. The twins had opted for a variety of fresh fruits and lightly seasoned greens, while Arwen had chosen a delicate selection of plant-based dishes that reflected the natural beauty of Rivendell. Legolas, who seemed somewhat distant, picked at a simple but nourishing meal, his mind clearly elsewhere.

Xena, on the other hand, stuck to her usual choice of bread and cheese. While she had developed a tolerance for the Elven diet, her warrior's appetite often longed for something more substantial—something that reminded her of the hardier meals she was accustomed to during her travels.

The conversation at the table was light, filled with the typical pleasantries of daily life in Rivendell. The twins shared stories of their latest patrols, while Arwen spoke of the recent additions to the gardens. Legolas, though present, contributed little, his thoughts seemingly occupied by something else.

Then, almost as an offhand comment, Xena mentioned the fish she had seen in a pond the previous day. "You know," she said, "I was thinking of catching a few of those fish and cooking them. I'm not sure how much longer I can survive on leaves and cheese."

Her remark was more a light-hearted jest than a serious suggestion, but it had an immediate effect on the elves. Elladan and Elrohir exchanged amused glances, clearly entertained by the idea, while Arwen looked mildly perplexed, trying to discern whether Xena was joking or genuinely considering such a bold action.

Legolas, however, took the comment in a different light. His recent interactions with Xena had left him on edge, and her words seemed to spark something within him. His eyes narrowed slightly as he looked at her, the unspoken tension between them rising to the surface.

"Do you have any idea what you're suggesting?" Legolas began, his tone sharp. "Those waters are not to be disturbed. The fish there are not meant to be taken for food."

Xena, who had been on the defensive ever since she woke up in Rivendell, met his gaze with equal intensity. "It was just a thought, Legolas. I wasn't planning to start a war over a couple of fish."

Legolas's frustration, already simmering, began to boil over. "You need to understand that there are rules here—rules that you seem all too eager to break!"

The conversation quickly escalated into an argument. Words were exchanged, each pushing the other's buttons in a way that only they seemed capable of. The tension at the table grew, with their voices rising just slightly above the usual calm tone of Rivendell.

Elladan and Elrohir, who were thoroughly enjoying the spectacle, leaned back in their seats, their eyes twinkling with amusement. They knew better than to interfere—this was a battle of wills that had been brewing for some time, and they were content to watch it play out like an impromptu performance.

Arwen, on the other hand, observed the scene with a mixture of concern and curiosity. While the argument might have seemed trivial on the surface, she could see the deeper emotions at play—frustration, confusion, perhaps even something more complex that neither Xena nor Legolas were willing to acknowledge.

The exchange continued, growing more heated with each passing moment, yet still, it remained oddly restrained. Both Xena and Legolas were fully aware of their surroundings and the presence of the others, which kept them from going too far.

Finally, Arwen, seeing that the argument was going nowhere, decided it was time to intervene—not by stopping them, but by gently steering the conversation back to safer ground. "Perhaps," she said softly, her voice cutting through the tension, "There's no need to argue over something as small as a meal."

Her words, spoken with the calm authority that only she possessed, had the desired effect. The tension in the air began to dissipate, and Xena and Legolas, both realizing the absurdity of their quarrel, fell silent. The twins exchanged one last look of amusement before returning to their meals, while Arwen offered Xena a reassuring smile.

The meal continued, but the undercurrent of emotions remained, unspoken yet palpable. For now, the argument was over, but both Xena and Legolas knew that the feelings they had stirred up were far from resolved.

As the evening descended upon Rivendell, Xena found herself in an unexpected situation—sitting among the elven seamstresses, surrounded by fabrics and designs, discussing the creation of gowns. When Arwen had first invited her to join in selecting fabrics and discussing designs, Xena had surprised everyone, including herself, by nodding with a smile and agreeing to go along. The expression on Legolas's face had been priceless—bewilderment mixed with a hint of disbelief. The Xena he knew was a warrior, more likely to be found wielding a sword than discussing fashion.

Perhaps if it had been about creating armor, he could have understood. But sitting among the seamstresses, talking about dresses? It was enough to make him question everything he thought he knew about her.

Unable to suppress his curiosity, Legolas had shown up later, accompanied by Elladan and Elrohir, hoping to catch Xena in the act of some elaborate joke. But there she was, genuinely engaged in conversation with the seamstresses, her tone serious as she spoke about the women of Harad and their desert attire.

Xena explained in detail how the women in Harad favored light, flowing fabrics to combat the desert heat, how they adorned themselves with intricate jewelry, mostly gold, and how they wrapped colorful scarves around their heads to protect themselves from the sun. She then moved on to describe the distinct differences in clothing styles in Umbar, where the people wore heavier garments, often with bold, dark colors that reflected the more rugged, coastal environment.

The elven maidens listened intently, their eyes wide with fascination. They had never traveled to such distant lands, and Xena's stories were a window into a world they had only heard of in passing. Her descriptions of the luxurious fabrics, the ornate jewelry, and the unique customs left them eager for every detail she could offer.

Legolas, on the other hand, stood in the background, his usually unreadable face betraying a flicker of confusion. The warrior princess he knew—fierce, stubborn, and battle-hardened—was now comfortably discussing fashion and culture with a group of elven seamstresses. It was as if he was seeing a different side of her, one he had never expected.

As the gathering wound down and the seamstresses began to collect their materials, Legolas took it upon himself to guide Xena back to her room. His curiosity, however, got the better of him, and as they walked through the quiet corridors of Rivendell, he couldn't hold back his questions any longer.

"Are you sure you're feeling alright?" Legolas asked, his voice laced with genuine concern. "Did you perhaps hit your head?"

Xena, puzzled by his question, looked at him with raised eyebrows. "What are you talking about? I'm fine," she replied, a hint of amusement in her tone.

Legolas wasn't satisfied. "Since when are you interested in fabrics and gowns? This isn't like you at all."

Xena stopped walking, turning to face him directly. She placed a firm hand on his arm, her expression serious. "Legolas, what did you expect me to do? If Arwen asked me to dance, I would. She's the daughter of the man who saved my life."

Her words struck Legolas like a blow, his eyes widening in surprise as she continued, her voice steady but laden with the weight of truth she had kept hidden until now.

"I was close to being claimed by the darkness, Legolas. That wound—it was more than serious. If it weren't for Lord Elrond, I wouldn't be here today. I'm not one for grand gestures or fancy words of thanks, but I'll show my gratitude in whatever way I can. Of course, I'll spend time with Arwen, and I'll do whatever she needs. The same goes for Lord Elrond and his sons. I owe them my life."

Legolas was momentarily speechless, taken aback by her candid admission. He had known, of course, that Xena was grateful, that she would find her own way to repay those who had helped her. But he hadn't expected her to go to such lengths—hadn't expected her to immerse herself in a world so far removed from her own, just to please Arwen.

Xena's hand slipped from his arm as she turned away, leaving him standing in the corridor, stunned by the gravity of her words. He watched as she walked to her chamber and closed the door behind her, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

Legolas stood there for a long moment, grappling with the realization that he had underestimated her. She was more than the warrior he had traveled with, more than the fierce fighter who could stand her ground against any foe. There was a depth to her, a willingness to do whatever was necessary to repay a debt of honor, even if it meant stepping far outside her comfort zone.

What Xena had not told him—what she could not easily admit—was that her gratitude extended far beyond Lord Elrond and his family. She was most thankful to Legolas himself. If he had not ridden so fast, if he had not taken her to Rivendell with such urgency, she would never have survived. She knew that, and the twins had confirmed it. But how could she begin to express that? How could she tell him that the debt she felt went far deeper than anything she could put into words?

As Xena leaned against the closed door of her chamber, she took a deep breath, trying to steady the emotions that had risen to the surface. She was grateful, more than she could say. And yet, there was a part of her that feared to tread further into those feelings, afraid of what they might mean, afraid of where they might lead.

Legolas, too, remained in the corridor, staring at the door, wrestling with his own thoughts. He had always known Xena to be strong, but tonight, he saw a different kind of strength—a quiet, determined resolve that made him respect her even more. He had glimpsed a part of her that she rarely showed, and it left him with a newfound understanding of the woman he had come to call a friend.

With a final glance at her door, Legolas turned and walked away, his thoughts heavy with the knowledge that there was more to Xena than he had ever realized. And perhaps, just perhaps, there was more to his own feelings than he was willing to admit.

((Upcoming Chapter Fifty))

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